


Nimrodel, waiting

by loosenoodlepoodledoodle



Series: Non-K-Pop Parodies [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Absurd, Comedy, Multi, Parody, Porn, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosenoodlepoodledoodle/pseuds/loosenoodlepoodledoodle
Summary: Merry and Éowyn decide to try to follow Aragorn and company through the Paths of the Dead. Instead, they find someone they do not expect, and she's been waiting a long time.
Relationships: Merry Brandybuck & Éowyn
Series: Non-K-Pop Parodies [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672396
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Nimrodel, waiting

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Lord of the Rings sex parody. It is based on both the movies and the books, in a melange.

Merry didn’t like being left behind just as much as Éowyn did, but he didn’t have a death wish either.

“How the blazes did they bring horses in here?” he wondered aloud.

Éowyn stopped and gave him a look. The desperation in her eyes halted his further complaints, and they continued on into the dark, Merry holding a candle to Éowyn’s torch.

_At least no one will follow us_ , he thought ruefully, remembering the fear at the King’s table after Aragorn and the others left. He seriously doubted anyone would search for them, even if there hadn’t been a war going on. _I just hope there’s not a rockfall in waiting somewhere up ahead._

The thought of walking the Paths of the Dead had terrified Merry when Éowyn had broached it to him. He wondered, as their horse refused to pass the dark door, if it would have been safer for them to trail the Ride of the Rohirrim, risking execution for disobeying Théoden’s orders. But instead, the Lady Éowyn had concocted this harebrained scheme, and now the two of them were fumbling through the dark, chasing her booty call and watching out for ghosts. Which were strangely absent.

That was actually the one good bit of news. Merry remembered the horrors of the Barrow Downs vividly, and he had imagined an army of the dead would have intensified his feeling of dread beyond the breaking point of mere mortals. But it seemed Aragorn had been successful. They encountered no spooks, and none of Aragorn’s companions were lying dead on the ground. Hopefully, they would wait on the other side before continuing on through Gondor. Otherwise Merry and Éowyn were in for a _really_ long walk.

Lost in thought, Merry plowed face first into Éowyn’s sweet, sweet behind. Even under the mail and overcoat he could feel its delectable softness. He jerked his head back, hoping she wouldn’t punish his trespassing on her royal derriere by separating his head from his shoulders. She was definitely more dangerous than he was, after all.

“Careful, Merry,” was her only admonishment. He peeked around her to see what had stopped her. It was a great stone door, scratched near the bottom where a skeleton lay nearby in a pose of eternal horror.

“Who is it?” he asked her.

She went in for a closer look. “I’m not sure. Some man of Rohan, but from long ago. It might be King Brego, but he’s missing his ring.”

“Brego? You mean, like Aragorn’s horse?”

Éowyn turned and glowered at Merry. “His horse is named _Roheryn_.”

“Oh.” He wondered what could have given him that idea. “What do you make of that door?”

She examined it. “It’s been opened recently, but now it’s shut tight.”

“Can you budge it?”

Éowyn laughed at his silly question. “No, of course not. Maybe a troll could.”

Merry frowned. “Then what are we going to do, milady?”

Éowyn sighed. “We’ll just have to try some of those side passages we passed.”

Merry gulped nervously.

***

They followed their chosen passage, and Merry could feel fresh, cold mountain air begin to permeate their environment.

“How’d you know to take this way?” he asked.

“The men of the mountains had dwellings around here. So I figured we should go with the one that smelled less stale.”

A memory surfaced within Merry. _“‘When in doubt, always follow your nose.’”_

Éowyn giggled, a sound that brought delight to Merry, but nevertheless he frowned. He recalled the provenance of that quote: Gandalf. Gandalf the Gray. Who was now Gandalf the White.

And Gandalf the White was a fucking asshole.

They continued on, encountering a handful of skylights and a broken set of stairs leading up into daylight, but little else. The passage twisted and turned, and started to head downwards when they began to feel heat and damp.

“What could that be?” asked Éowyn, this time the uncertain one.

“I don’t know,” admitted Merry, “but it kind of reminds me of bath time back home.”

Éowyn’s face screwed up. “Really?”

They moved onward, hearing a trickle of running water. They crossed a side tunnel that was evidently a drainage channel, and a few yards beyond that there was one final turn ending in a wooden door. A locked wooden door.

“I can understand a stone door remaining intact all this long, but a wooden one?” said Merry.

“Shh,” said Éowyn. “There’s light on the other side.”

He looked down where she pointed, at the crack under the door. Sure enough, flickering orange light could be seen, mingling with their own.

“Maybe we should knock,” suggested Merry in jest.

Éowyn shrugged. “Go ahead.”

He did so, and the voice that answered them was both great and terrible in its beauty.

***

When Durin’s Bane was awoken beneath Moria, the dwarves were not the only ones to flee. A number of weak-kneed elves in Lorien fled as well. Among them was the happy couple of Amroth and Nimrodel. They fled south to the elf-haven, to sail across the sea, but became separated in the White Mountains. Amroth drowned in a storm, the loser, but Nimrodel wandered around for a while, right out of history. No one knew her ultimate fate, until now.

The door opened, and Merry and Éowyn were flabbergasted at the she-elf on the other side. She was the most bodacious babe imaginable, no wonder she’d been such a cocktease to that dullard Amroth. Completely naked, her body glistened with bathwater, her skin as pale as moonlight. She even faintly glowed! Her hair was such a platinum blonde it was like mithril floss, and her bush was a pleasant chestnut brown. Merry looked up at her tits and felt all the blood in his head rush down to his cock and balls.

Éowyn stammered an apology, and the she-elf said something musical. Neither of them could understand her, nor she them, so she telepathically mind-fucked them to answer her questions.

_“M-m-meeeeerrrrryyyyyyy,”_ intoned Merry.

_“_ Éowyn _,”_ whispered Éowyn, a bit more respectably.

“Nimrodel,” said the she-elf, and Merry felt a wonderful chill run up his spine as she said it.

She beckoned them inside the door, and shut it once they were through. They could see they were inside some sort of underground bathhouse, apparently fed by natural hot springs. As Nimrodel led them away, they could feel her thoughts entering their minds. Memories of wandering the mountains alone, of being lured into the tunnels by the Oathbreakers, of them fawning over her for a millennium, unable to satisfy themselves yet worshipping her all the same. They had even gathered all the food she needed from the neighboring valleys so she wouldn’t have to. But now everyone was gone.

She stopped them in a strange room with a spout near the ceiling. She took Éowyn aside and began to disrobe her, projecting a very clear sort of **_WAIT_** command at Merry. He watched helplessly as the she-elf activated the spout, pouring hot soapy water over the two women. He marveled at how blonde Éowyn looked more like a brunette compared to Nimrodel, and how Éowyn’s infatuation with Aragorn was rapidly melting in the presence of the she-elf, and then he bashfully turned away, certain they would gouge out his eyes for his intransigence.

“You can watch,” said Éowyn. “I don’t mind.”

For a moment Merry froze, unable to decide if Éowyn somehow liked him, or if she simply took him so unseriously that she totally discounted him having feelings in his loins. The idea was kryptonite to his heart. Then Nimrodel stepped back, and it was Merry’s turn to get cleaned up. Éowyn helped him out, removing his clothing and giving him a scrub. He noticed how old the packaging on the bar of soap was, and figured it must have been from some distribution company hundreds of years in the grave. Then Éowyn grabbed his cock and balls.

“Is every halfling the equal of a man down there, or just you?” teased Éowyn. For a moment Merry was indignant at her use of the term “halfling,” but then she gave him a tug and all was forgotten as he almost blew his load all over her lap. The only thing that stopped him was Nimrodel’s telepathy calming him down.

He thought back to his first sexual experience, Rosie Cotton giving Sam and the others one hell of a goodbye before they set off from Crickhollow and into the Old Forest. Frodo and Pippin hadn’t seemed anything special, but he’d been jealous of Samwise’s extra girth. Randomly he admitted to himself that if the Quest of Mount Doom succeeded he should hope desperately that its sordid beginnings were left out of the history books. Nimrodel snickered, and he realized she had read his mind.

“I don’t know about others of my kind,” said Merry, blushing, “but I can tell you I’m unusually tall for a hobbit, all thanks to an Ent-draught I’ve drunk.”

Éowyn and Nimrodel both smiled at him, Éowyn sweetly and the she-elf in jest, and Merry felt like a million bucks. Éowyn said, “All done,” and Nimrodel handed them some ancient yet surprisingly fresh towels to dry off with. Then she led them, not to the hot tub as Merry had surmised, but down a hall to a private bedroom.

Nimrodel filled their heads with an explanation. This had been the King of the Dead’s sex den in life, and her bedroom ever since they had ensnared her. The King had personally dragged a new mattress from a wholesale emporium way down in Lebennin every decade, so the thing was clean. The sheets were smooth silk as well.

Nimrodel turned around and flopped back onto the bed, her breasts jiggling magnificently, and Éowyn crawled on top tentatively. Merry could only stare slack-jawed at the two of them together. Éowyn’s tits were definitely smaller than Nimrodel’s, but still lovely, and the same could be said of their asses, and before he could go in for a closer look to compare between their legs he realized he was losing control and this time nothing would, nothing _could_ stop him and—

Éowyn and Nimrodel just managed to save him from wasting it all on the floor. They were able to grab him and pull him forward onto the bed, where he promptly jizzed all over them, hot sticky splooge covering them inexpertly like a drunken baker decorating a cake with less than half the frosting needed to completely coat it with sugary sweetness. He fell forward, his head landing on Nimrodel’s tit, dangerously close to one of his pearls. He reflexively sucked her erect nipple as his vision faded to black. The last thing he heard as he fell asleep was Éowyn’s voice in surprise and delight.

“It’s so hot and sticky!”

***

He dreamed of Aragorn and Arwen, fucking in some guest room in Rivendell while Elrond frowned downstairs in disapproval. He dreamed of Gimli eating out Galadriel and shagging her gently, ending three whole Ages of distrust between elf and dwarf. Finally, he dreamed of Éowyn lovingly brushing the hair of Shadowfax while Gandalf leered from somewhere nearby.

“Is it true that Rohirrim lie with their horses?” asked Merry.

“No, you idiot, that’s Dothraki,” scolded Gandalf. He struck Merry between the eyes with his big white stick and Merry woke up.

He was alone in bed, but heard laughter down the hall. Wiping himself down with a soapy rag (which was freezing by this time), he set off to join the ladies.

They were eating breakfast in the hot tub. It was nothing special, just something simple to gnaw on since they were too lazy to cook. “Toilet’s down that way if you need it,” said Éowyn offhandedly.

Merry ate some buttered toast and slipped into the bath. “So, I take it we’re not still after Aragorn?”

Éowyn shook her head. “Nah. That was just a pipedream, and I’ve found true love right here. Who’d’ve thought?”

She shared a kiss with Nimrodel, and its beauty had such power in it that it could have overthrown the Dark Lord, if only he had witnessed it. Merry swooned in response.

Something passed between Nimrodel and Éowyn, and Éowyn said, “She thinks she knows a way out of here. Some way that the Dead kept her back from all these years. We can try it in a few hours.”

“Okay,” said Merry, sheepishly. “What shall we do in the mean time?”

As he said this, he felt a deep longing and loneliness well up from within him, triggered no doubt by the two women’s overflowing affection towards one another. _Where do I fit in all this? Is there even a place for me at their side? At_ her _side?_

Éowyn answered his questions with one of her own, and it was everything he could have hoped for and more.

“In the mean time, do you think you can last long enough to do the both of us?”

***

Meanwhile, far to the east, Frodo and Sam were lost in the dark, abandoned by Gollum. They finally remembered Galadriel’s glass phallus of starlight, improbably having forgotten it even though they were carrying it this whole time while their packs were getting ever lighter. Frodo lifted it high as something dark approached them swiftly. The starlight burned, illuminating something they would never have recognized if not for Rosie Cotton’s farewell gang-bang back at Crickhollow. Oh, how one such succulent night could rule the fate of many!

Their eyes adjusted, and soon they realized they were staring at a large, hairy vagina, dripping with sex juices and horniness. It seemed to be part of a monster spider, except it was in a strange place, where normally the mouth of the spider would be. White markings led upward, forming a woman’s torso, except this woman had five huge perky tits. She reached down with one hand and spread her pussy lips, and in a pique of madness Frodo jammed the starlight deep inside. She came like a fountain, knocking the hobbits down, and she dragged them away. But just like the Paths of the Dead, the tunnels of Shelob’s Lair had many creature comforts secreted away within, including a hot tub, too. Never having had an opportunity to hook up with anything other than Sauron’s scraps, she had never before been satisfactorily laid…until Frodo and Sam double-teamed her. Shortly thereafter, Shelob used her genetically inherited power of Unlight (she was a descendant of Ungoliant, after all) to provide the cover they needed to reach Mount Doom and toss the ring into the fire. Then, with her eight legs, she was speedy enough for them to escape the volcano before becoming trapped, thus saving their lives, as anything so ridiculous as giant fucking eagles did not actually exist, and anyone who writes otherwise in a fantasy epic ought never be taken seriously ever again.

***

Merry, Éowyn, and Nimrodel emerged from the mountains just in time to see the great Mordor cloud dissipating.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Merry.

“I guess we don’t need to worry about the war any longer,” said Éowyn.

Nimrodel telepathically asked them what they wanted to do next. As Éowyn thought about it, Merry had an answer immediately.

“So, there’s an old forest outside Buckland, and practically the only people living inside it are Tom Bombadil and his wife, Goldberry. Well, it just so happens that Goldberry is really hot, and they’re also swingers, so…”

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I wrote while waiting for the writer's block to pass from "Summit." Cheers!


End file.
